


teach me.

by houseofthedragon



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 2 idiots in love, Attempt at Humor, F/M, Fluff, Literally crack I'm telling you, Mild Smut (for jonerys), Set during season 7, can be applied for both of these couples, crackfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 13:56:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20489996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houseofthedragon/pseuds/houseofthedragon
Summary: In which Jon and Daenerys play matchmakers for Arya and Gendry but fail so badly at it that Gendry and Arya have no choice but to take matters in their own hands.





	teach me.

**Author's Note:**

> in this, jon brings arya to dragonstone with him to meet daenerys. don't ask how. i wrote this during season 7 when i was still a sweet summer child who was eager for dany and arya to bond...and then all i got was 'sHeS nOt oNe oF uS' so yeah. 
> 
> @ 2017 TR, you weren't just a clown, you were the whole circus.

“Lady Arya.”

The little girl groans, the deep annoyance in that sound making Daenerys’ lips quirk. “It’s just Arya,” she says.

Daenerys pushes her door open. “Just Arya,” she jests, “What brings you here?”

She bites down on her lip, looking nervous. After all, Dany has become fairly well acquainted with Arya’s mannerisms now. The sharp arch of her eyebrow is reserved for when she is pissed off—and that’s something she is, often, that she-wolf. And the nervous tick of her leg, the jerk of a knee, is for when she is anxious about something. Like now.

The silver-haired Queen looks out to her guards. “_You may all leave,_” she says in Dothraki.

Arya finally lets out a sigh and then, she steps in Daenerys’ room hurriedly. Pacing back and forth. Daenerys watches her in amusement as she slowly shuts the door behind her.

“Arya.”

She looks up. “What?”

“You tell me what is it,” Dany chuckles. “You look like you’ve seen a wight.”

Jon’s sister’s lips lift in a half-smirk. “So, you believe us then?”

Daenerys rolls her eyes. “Do not change the subject.”

Arya Stark has been one of the weirdest encounters in Daenerys Targaryen’s life.

When she had stepped in the Throne Room, an unimpressed look on her face, her sharp eyebrow perfectly arched and lips pressed in a thin line, Daenerys knew that she wasn’t a nice little lady who’d bow and call her ‘Your Grace’. She was proven right when Missandei had finished listing all of her titles and ser Davos began listing Jon’s—only to come short. “This is Jon Snow,” he had said and followed with one, big awkward pause, “He’s King in the North.”

Arya had looked at the old man and huffed. “He’s more than that.” Her dark eyes, sharp and full of ice, settled on Daenerys’ unflinchingly. Even Jon Snow would not hold her gaze for as long as his sister did. “Aye, he might not have someone to recite all of his titles. He might not even know his own titles but my brother doesn’t need to collect titles to prove his worth. He’s King in the North because of his strength and honour. He was Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. He united people, _unlikely_ people, in a way that no King in the past has. He’s fought for the North and saved our home.”

Daenerys was taken aback. She knew all of that, of course, she had done her research on that man. But to have someone so little yet so fierce tell her all of that, without the faintest hint of fright in her eyes or voice, it impressed Daenerys.

And impress her she did.

While Daenerys’ relationship with Jon was rocky and difficult to put into words, his sister was an entirely different matter. They were drawn to each other from the beginning—but they both refused to admit it.

All it took was for Arya to come meet her one night on the castle’s terrace, a coat wrapped around her shoulders.

She’d stood next to the Queen, closer than even Jon dared, and whispered, “They’re so beautiful.”

Daenerys had looked down at her, pleased with the awe on her features. She’d looked soft under the moonlight, like the girl she truly was despite the warrior’s soul residing in her. “Your brother wouldn’t choose that word,” Dany joked.

“What did he call them?”

“Beasts.”

Arya snorted. “Same can be said about the beast he has at home. Ghost.”

“His direwolf,” Daenerys acknowledged.

“He talks about him?” She sounded surprised.

Dany hoped that the darkness of the night hid the blush on her cheeks. “He mentioned it. Here or there. During dinner…or something.”

Arya nodded. “I had a direwolf too.”

“Had?”

“Yes,” she answered and took in a deep breath. “I’m afraid if I begin the tale now, you won’t be getting much sleep at all.”

Daenerys smiled. “Well, then, maybe we should both sacrifice one night of sleep, what do you say?” Her eyes twinkled as she looked at Arya, who seemed intrigued. “Do you want to know how I got them?”

That night, they’d poured their hearts out to each other. It was easy speaking to Arya, easy to laugh and weep with her. Easy to forget about being a Queen and just for a night, be a _friend. _

And now, two moons before they leave for Winterfell together, one can say that Arya and Daenerys became pretty inseparable.

Which is why it’s easy for her to notice the discomfort in the Northern girl’s stance as she stops in front of her. “It’s about Gendry,” she blurts.

Daenerys blinks. “Gendry.”

“You know—it’s,” she sighs, heavily, _frustratedly_. “It’s not like I _can’t _talk to him. This is Gendry after all. My Gendry. I mean—not _my _my, but still my…Gendry. The one I’ve known. But ever since we’ve met each other again it’s so—so different, you know? And it’s so annoying! I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Why I can’t _talk _to him like before, why I get so fucking _nervous. _Gods, Daenerys! I get nervous. _Nervous_.”

For a second, nobody speaks. Arya has calmed down from her rant, just staring at Dany with her eyes wide open and Daenerys takes that moment to absorb whatever useful information she’s found in Arya’s little jumbled monologue. She comes to one conclusion—judging from the tone of her voice, the hitch in her breath when saying his name and the light blush on her cheeks. Daenerys smirks. “So, you’re asking me how to tell Gendry that you like him?”

“_What_?”

“Love him, then.”

“I don’t—” she begins to protest and then blinks, composes herself and softly says, “Yes.”

***

“Say that again and I’ll kill you.”

“What? That I love Ar—_ouch._”

Jon withdraws his curled fist from Gendry’s ribs, smiling as the man squats with a grunt. “I love her,” he chokes out again.

Jon sighs. “That’s my little sister we’re talking about.”

“She’s not that little any—” another punch “—_gods, _you’re going to have to stop hitting me eventually.”

Jon tilts his head to the side. “No, I’m good.”

They venture deeper into the mines and Jon nods approvingly at his men who are still working. The last batch of dragonglass is being made. Hard, intensive labour is finally behind them. Jon is proud of his men and, above all, of Daenerys’ men. Her help was crucial. He’s starting to get used to saying this now. Just like her help had been crucial when he set out on a stupid suicide mission and she rained fire down from the skies, looking every bit like the angel she is.

Gendry’s voice interrupts the turn his thoughts is taking, “You know me, Jon. You think I’m a bad person?”

Jon is about to hit him (again) until he sees the earnest look in his eyes. If there is anyone in this world he’d trust Arya with, it still wouldn’t be Gendry _but _he supposes that he isn’t as bad as many men Jon’s known. With an aggravated sigh, he shakes his head. “No,” he answers. “You’re a great man, Gendry but she’s still my sister.”

“I know she feels the same way.”

Jon makes a face. “Arya?” he inquires. “Are you certain about that?” The prospect of Arya being interested in a man—in Gendry—is so strange to him. Perhaps because he’s only viewing this as the overprotective brother that he is.

“Before we left for the mission,” Gendry excitedly declares, “She looked _so_ worried. You should’ve seen her face. I’ve always loved her. I never thought I’d see her again and I’m not going to wait until I lose her again to regret not telling her…again.”

For a moment, Jon’s mind travels back to his goodbye with Daenerys. The flicker of pain in her eyes, the way her voice wavered. Even now there’s this peculiar tightening in his chest at the memory. The thought of her being afraid to lose him _haunted _him in the most pleasant of ways. It was a blanket wrapped around his heart, squeezing it, reminding him that he had to stay alive for her.

But of course, that was nothing to how he felt when he awoke on the boat. When her soft hand curled around his which was cold and stiff. Nothing compared to the way he could scarcely breathe when she cried, to the immeasurable intensity of his feelings for her then.

“So, I could really use some advice here,” Gendry mutters.

“There’s no time for that.”

“Yes, there is. If I’m not going to tell her I love her on the brink of the end of humanity, then when will I?”

“Never.”

“I’m serious.” Gendry seems determined. “You’re going to help me.”

Jon turns to him, frowning. “And why would I do that?”

“Because,” Gendry starts, “That’s what our fathers would want. For us to help each other out. You know, being best friends and all that.”

***

Arya feels like she is going to die from embarrassment.

That’s not a _thing _but it might as well be. The ground might as well open up beneath her feet, create a giant hole and swallow her up. That would be less painful than walking around in this dress. How is this dress even real, she’s wondered from the moment Daenerys helped her in it. It’s thin and made of flowing silk and weird ribbons criss-crossing down her back and chest. The colour is disgusting—a weird mixture of beige and pink that makes her want to throw up. This whole thing makes her want to throw up.

“It’s an Essosi dress,” the Dragon Queen told her. “Wear this to dinner and he’ll be all over you in no time.”

So, that’s what she did.

She’s not one to usually follow people’s advice but this is Daenerys. They had a rough start but if she is being honest, Arya had been giddy with excitement the moment she stepped onto the beaches of Dragonstone, knowing she’d meet Daenerys—and her dragons!

Arya values their friendship. She values Daenerys’ advice just like the Queen values and respects hers.

But _fuck, _there must be some sort of discrepancy in her plan because Gendry is not looking at her.

At all.

He is conversing with some Northmen, some Dothraki, Daenerys’ advisors and is barely paying her any attention, only occasional glances and brief answers which are starting to get on her nerves.

_Am I doing this wrong?_

She clears her throat to get his attention. He doesn’t look at her. She does the sound again—harder, until she feels the need to cough. He finally drags his eyes away from the oh-so-interesting conversation he was having with Varys to look at Arya. He blinks, unphased.

Arya tucks a loose piece of hair behind her ear. (Yes, she even had her hair done; Daenerys insisted on braiding it and it looks _horrifyingly _like one of Sansa’s favourite hairstyles – come to think of it, Daenerys and Sansa will definitely get along). Batting her eyelashes at Gendry, she sweetens her voice, “Aren’t you tired?”

“No,” is his plain, dumb answer.

Arya grits her teeth. _Pretty, nice women don’t curse while eating. _“I think we should go for a walk along the beach after dinner. I heard it’s better at night.”

“If I wanted to walk,” he gruffly says, “I would. I don’t need your permission.”

Now Arya’s had enough. “Then finish your plate alone,” she snaps and gets up, trying not to trip on this stupid dress as she storms out of the hall.

Only then does this idiot decide to follow her. “Wait, Arya!”

“Don’t talk to me,” she hisses, her cheeks burning with humiliation. She’s done all of this for him only to have him act like _this _in return, as if she is merely a nuisance for him?

He grabs her hand, pulls her into a lonely corridor and she whirls to face him, anger surging to the surface. “You bloody idiot,” she snarls.

Gendry’s eyes widen. “What did I do?”

“What did you do?” she scoffs. “You’ve treated me like shit this entire evening!”

“No,” he blurts, “No, no, no. You’re misunderstanding—”

“What _is_ there to misunderstand?”

“That was Jon’s idea.”

“Jon told you to act like this?”

“He just—he told me that I shouldn’t act _desperate_ to win you over. That I should challenge you and that way, you’d like me more,” he admits, cheeks reddening at the admission. “It was stupid, I’m sorry.”

Arya begins to descend from the high she just skyrocketed to in all her fury. “Win me over,” she repeats.

Gendry nods, grimacing. “But…I’m not sure what _this_ means. Why are you dressed as such? And why were you talking so sweetly to me?”

Now it’s her turn to blush. Furiously so. “Daenerys,” she explains lamely, “said that the best way to win a man’s heart is through pretty dresses.”

“That’s a load of shit,” Gendry huffs.

Arya crosses her arms over her chest. “And what my brother said isn’t?”

He sighs. “You’re right. It’s just…I love you, Arya,” he breathes out, the finality and relief behind these words striking her right in the heart. “I love you because of the way you are. Insufferable, annoying and never one to wear pretty gowns and have your hair all up like a princess. If that’s not what you want, I mean. If it is, I’d love you like this too.”

“And I love it when you’re a bit desperate to win me over,” she says, smirking.

He rolls his eyes at her. “You won’t even say it back properly, huh?”

With her heart in her throat and stomach filled with butterflies, she approaches him and leans up to reach his mouth with her own. It’s a soft kiss, gentle and careful. Like two halves of a soul finding their way back to each other – which is exactly what they are. “I love you, too.”

He smiles. Then blinks. “You do realise we need to—”

“—Do something about these two?” Arya sighs. “Yes. And I have a great idea.”

***

“Did the dress work—_oh._”

Instead of Arya, Daenerys is met with another head of curly hair. Familiar in some ways but still so different. Arya’s presence brings her peace but her brother, _gods, _the things being around him does to her is frightening sometimes. Disarming.

Even now, the simple act of his dark grey eyes watching her is enough to make her feel a bit weak and unstable. _You’re a Queen, _she chides herself.

“I apologise, Your Grace,” Jon says as he gets up, bowing his head the slightest, “I was supposed to meet Gendry here.”

Daenerys furrows her brow. “And I, Arya.”

Their gazes meet and the understanding comes suddenly. And it’s mutual.

Jon closes his eyes. “We’ve been set up, haven’t we?”

“I’m afraid so,” she answers, licking her lips thoughtfully. “I wonder what for.”

“Well, I’m assuming my advice for Gendry didn’t work so well.”

Daenerys quirks a brow, “So you’ve been helping him out while I tried to help your sister out.”

“Arya came to you?” he asks, sounding offended. “Why wouldn’t she discuss such matters with me?”

“It doesn’t surprise me,” Daenerys answers, “That she wouldn’t consult you for matters of the heart.”

She doesn’t know where the bravery came from but it’s out there, suddenly, and there’s nothing she can do to stop it.

He looks up at her, looking baffled. “What is that supposed to mean?”

She straightens her spine. “You can be quite oblivious.”

“I can—” he pauses to scoff, “And you’re the one saying this,” he mutters to himself but she’s heard him, alright. She’s heard him loud and clear.

She scowls at him. “Now, what is _that _supposed to mean?”

***

“Are you hearing anything?”

Arya presses her ear closer against the door, if she pushes any harder she is afraid she might break the door. “Yes,” she mumbles, “They’re talking. Oh, yelling. Yes. They’re yelling.”

Gendry inhales sharply. “Fuck, did we misjudge the situation?”

***

“And then you left the room and never came back!”

Daenerys looks away from him. “Because I was _confused_.”

Jon breathed out. “Aye, and how do you think I felt?”

“It’s not my fault that I was scared of my feelings for you, can you blame me? You’ve almost never shown me a sign that you were interested,” she states haughtily.

“I couldn’t have been clearer,” he scoffs. “Even Davos saw it!”

“How? You could barely look me in the eye during all the nights I wore some stupid, flimsy dress to flirt with you during dinner,” she accuses. She should be embarrassed of admitting to this—to all the dumb little things she did to try and get an ounce of his attention but it feels so good to let it all out, so good to watch the way his eyes widen at her words, throat working on hard swallows.

He gives her an incredulous look. “_Others take me, _I was trying to be appropriate and not stare at you like some moonstruck fool.”

***

“What are they saying?”

“I can’t hear them. But there’s shouting.”

“Fuck, what if they have us executed for this?”

Arya rolls her eyes. “Don’t be so overdramatic. Wait, I hear nothing.”

“What?” Gendry panics, leaning against the doorframe as well. Other than the sound of his own breathing, what Arya is saying is true – the room is silent. “Gods, do you think they murdered each other?”

Arya elbows him in the stomach and he grunts. “You and your brother need to stop abusing me,” he whisper-yells at her.

Arya’s eyes suddenly go wide. “I can hear something.”

All Gendry hears is some sort of shuffling and then – _is that fabric tearing_?

The next sound, though, cannot be mistaken.

A moan.

***

Jon Snow doesn’t kiss as gently as she imagined he would. His lips are unyielding against hers, parting them open to slide against her tongue and she moans into his mouth. But his hands are a different matter. He touches her gently, arms encircling her waist, rubbing up and down her spine, tugging her flush against his body.

She soaks in every moan of his. Who would’ve thought she’d manage to get such sounds from the usually stoic, brooding King in the North? They’re intoxicating anyway, the way they vibrate from his chest and send shivers down her back.

When his hands fist the front of her dress and _rip _it apart, she gasps into his mouth. “How dare you?” she scolds him, only half-heartedly, because in truth she is more interested in getting his hands on her breasts. And his mouth too.

He half-smiles, eyes clouded with lust. “You’ve complained about me not reacting enough to your pretty dresses, right, Your Grace?” he drawls, “Well, this is what I’ve been wanting to do to all of them.”

Her cunt throbs at his gravelly tone and the dark pools of his eyes in which she could drown, his desire for her so evident. “I won’t allow you to do this to all of them,” she jests, kissing his lower lip.

When he drops his head to her bosom, lips trailing down her throat to the rosy peak of one breast, she moans, “But I might allow this one exception.”

***

Arya blinks. “Are they—”

“I don’t know!”

She is horrified by the sound she just heard. “Surely they won’t…not in _there._” That’s not even one of their bedchambers, just some old dusty room she found to trap them in.

And then, to answer her question, there is an unmistakable thud against the door.

As if a body being slammed on it.

Gendry makes a face at her. “We should go,” he states, “Before we receive more…proof of what’s happening in there.”

Much to their dismay, even as they walk away, the sounds of keening and moaning fill the hallways and Arya wonders if she should consider relocating her chambers if this is how their stay at Dragonstone is going to end. 

**Author's Note:**

> so i'm using this to make a final comment about the state of jonerys because unlike some, i'm not into revenge/hate fics to express my opinions. i've never been as disappointed in the jonerys fandom as i have been reading the despicable comments and said "revenge fics" some people on here have been posting in response to that one (1) fanfic they didn't like. it's the most pathetic shit i've seen in all the years of being a fanfic reader and writer, and worse than ANY other fandom i've ever been in. the saddest part is seeing actual writers, people whose works i've read and enjoyed, bully another author. 
> 
> not that i think this is going to change anything because i'm well aware this mentality is never going to fade on here but i hope you're all aware that a fic you don't like/don't agree with doesn't actually "break" any rules. you can be angry at people wrongly tagging stuff, hell, you can dislike the way someone deals with an issue (and since the issue we're speaking of is something as serious as rape, this is TOTALLY understandable) but acting like people owe you shit? like the authors are supposed to abide to whatever the fuck you like and write only that? i have no words. just thinking about how cringe-worthy it is to write hate fics towards an author who isn't doing anything except not writing something you like is truly something else. YOU don't get to decide what's wrong or right. you don't get to decide a WRITER's characterisation, you don't have a say in whether or not that character fits your boat, it's THAT PERSON'S STORY, not yours. these are not things in your control. the only thing you get to decide is whether you like it or not. this is what fanfiction is about. anything beyond that, for example acting like petulant children because things are not going your way is the exact type of behaviour that makes writers not want to write anymore.
> 
> the funniest part is people taking time out of their day to call me a shitty person for supporting that author (which i do, go cry about it harder if you wish) who's getting an immense amount of hate and being viciously attacked for...a...FANFIC. that you could've just clicked out of. that you could just ignore. that has 7 chapters. SEVEN. you took time to read all seven, knowing the tags, knowing the general outline and then choose to whine about it in long-ass paragraphs and since that wasn't enough to calm your anger, let's go write revenge fics to bully that author. that's so cool and edgy! this is not me claiming you should read this fic nor support the author. my friend hates that fic, found it very disturbing to read and did not like how the writer portrayed jon's rape. but she moved on. she didn't feel the need to cyberbully someone over it. because it's that easy to move on from a fictional story you don't like. (hint: it takes one click, that little back button, press it. you'll love it. )
> 
> if you're all going to gang up and bully a writer then i don't mind being in the minority and at least do what's right. i can't see how as a writer you can go ahead and attack someone else who writes because they're not writing something you enjoy. that just blows my mind, i'd understand this coming from people who only read but authors...really? this is what it's become? bullying? over fucking fictional characters. you do realise that jon and daenerys are not real, right? jon isn't somewhere getting raped. daenerys isn't cheating on him with daario. hell, even CANON JONERYS didn't go through all this shit. you CHOOSE a *fictional* universe where this is happening when there are THOUSANDS of others where this doesn't happen and then CHOOSE to attack the ***real*** person writing it? when no one forced your hand into this? when you knew exactly what you were getting into? sounds like a you problem to me, not the author's. 
> 
> if you don't see the problem with failing to differentiate between fiction and reality then that's just sad tbh. the thought process of seeing a fic you don't like based on the tags and description but choosing to click on it, choosing to read through numerous chapters despite clearly hating it and THEN choosing to go ahead and pettily attack the author & get all this revenge porn going in the tags is pathetic. what's even more pathetic is thinking that'll fix anything. 
> 
> that's all i have to say. 
> 
> now go ahead and prove my point by making this comment section a warzone while hiding behind anonymous accounts.


End file.
